Part 27 (1/2)

Four o'clock found the plotter entering the parlor of what once had been the establishment of T. Marshall, undertaker, now the Elite Colored Funeral Home, Marshall & Kivil, proprietors. These transformations had dated from the time Percy C. Kivil (Tuskegee '18) entered the firm. Here was no plain undertaker. Here was an expert and a graduate mortician, with diploma to prove it; also one gifted of the pen. Two inscriptions done in flowing type hung on the wall. One of these inscriptions read:

Oh, Death, where is thy sting When we officiates?

Embalming done attentively At standard pre-war rates.

And the other:

Blest be the tie that binds!

Tho death thy form may shake.

Call in a brother of thy race And let him undertake!

At a desk between these two decorative objects and half shadowed by the bright-green fronds of a large artificial palm, sat aesop Loving, son-in-law of the senior partner. From his parent-by-marriage aesop had borrowed desk-room for the carrying on of the mult.i.tudinous business relating to the general management of one of the celebrations projected in honor, and on account of, the Eighth of August. He might appear to be absorbed in important details, as he now did. But inside of him he was not happy and Jeff knew the reasons; the reasons were common rumor.

This year there was to be more than one celebration; there were to be two; and the opposition, organizing secretly and stealing a march on that usually wide-awake person, aesop, had rented Belt Line Park, thus forcing aesop's crowd to make a poor second choice of the old show-grounds, a treeless common away out near the end of Tennessee Street. On top of this and in an unexpected quarter, even more formidable compet.i.tion was foreshadowed. A scant eighth of a mile distant from the show-lot and on the same thoroughfare stood the Twelfth Ward tabernacle, and here services would be held both afternoon and evening of the Eighth. The Rev. Wickliffe had so announced, and the Rev.

s.h.i.+ne had backed him in the decision.

It was inevitable, with this surpa.s.sing magnet of popular interest so near at hand, that for every truant convert who might halt to taste of the pleasures provided by aesop Loving and his a.s.sociate promoters, half a dozen possible patrons would pa.s.s on by and beyond, drawn away by the compelling power of the Sin Killer's eloquence. Representations had been made to the revivalist that, with propriety, he might suspend his ministry for the great day. His answer was the declaration that on the Eighth he would preach not merely once, but twice.

By him and his there would be no temporizing with the powers of evil, however insidiously cloaked. Would not dancing be included in the entertainments planned by these self-seeking laymen who now approached him? Would not there be idle sports and vain pastimes calculated to entice the hearts of the populace away from consideration of the welfare of their own souls? Admittedly there would be drinking of soft drinks.

And into the advertised softness some hardness a.s.suredly would slip. You could not fool the Sin Killer. Having taken a firm stand, his rect.i.tude presently moved him to further steps. On his behalf it was stated that he, personally, would lead the elect in triumphant procession out Tennessee Street to the tabernacle between the afternoon preaching and the evening. As an army with banners, the saved, the sober, and the seeking would march past, thus attesting their fealty to the cause which moved them. He defied all earthly forces to lure a single one from the ranks.

And, after the preaching, under his auspices, there would be a mighty cutting of watermelons for those deemed to be qualified to partic.i.p.ate therein. By the strict tenets of the Rev. Wickliffe's theology it seemed that watermelons were almost the only luscious things of this carnal world not held to be potentially or openly sinful. Small wonder then that Jeff, jauntily entering the Elite Funeral Home, read traces of an ill-concealed distress writ plain upon the face of aesop Loving.

”Well, Brother Lovin', you sh.o.r.e does look lak you'd hung yore harp 'pon the willer-tree an' wuz fixin' to tek in sorrow fur a livin',” he said in greeting. ”Cheer yo'se'f up; 'tain't nothin' so worse but whut it mout be worser.”

”Easy fur you to say so, Brother Poindexter; harder fur me to do so,”

stated aesop. ”Gallivantin' 'round the way you is, you ain't got no idea of the aggervations w'ich keeps comin' up in connection wid an occasion sech ez this one, an' mo' 'specially the aggervations w'ich pussonally afflicts the director-general of the same, w'ich I is him.”

”I been hearin' somethings myse'f,” said Jeff. ”Word is come to me, fur one thing, that this yere smart-ellicky gang out at the Belt Line Park is aimin' to try to cut some of the groun' frum under yore feet. I regrets to hear it.”

”'Tain't them so much,” said aesop. ”We couldn't 'spect to go 'long havin' a nomopoly furever. Sooner or late they wuz bound to be opposition arisin' up. 'Tain't them so much, although I will say it wuz a low-flung trick to tek an' rent that park right out frum under our noses 'thout givin' us no warnin' so's we mout go an' rent it fu'st. No, hit's the action of that Emmanuel Chapel bunch w'ich gives me the mos'

deepest concern. Seems lak ev'ry time that Rev'n' Sin Killer open his mouth I kin feel cold cash crawlin' right out of my pocket. Mind you, Brother Poindexter, I ain't got a word to say ag'in religion. I's strong fur it on Sundays, ez you well knows, but dog-gone religion w'en it come interferin' wid a pusson's chanct to pick up a little spare change fur hisse'f on a week-day!”

”Spoke lak a true business man, Brother Lovin',” said Jeff. ”Still, I reckin you's mebbe countin' the spoilt eggs 'fore they's all laid. The way I sees it, you'll do fairly well, nevertheless an' to the contrary notwithstandin'. Le's see. Ain't you goin' to have the dancin'-pavilion goin' all day?”

”Yas, but--”

”Ain't you goin' to have money rollin' in frum all the snack-stands an'

frum the fried-fish privilege an' frum the cane rackits an' frum the knock-the-babies-down an' all?”

”Tubby sh.o.r.e, but--”

”Ain't you due to pick up a right smart frum the kitty of the private c.r.a.p game an' the chuck-a-luck layout?”

”Natch.e.l.ly. But--”

”Hole on; I ain't th'ough yit. Seems lak to me you ain't properly counted up yore blessin's a-tall. Ain't the near-beer--” he sank his voice discreetly, although there was no one to overhear ”ain't the near-beer an' the _still nearer_ beer goin' fetch you in a right peart lil' income? I'll say they is. An' ain't you goin' do mighty well on yore own account out of yore share of the commission frum Gumbo Rollinses' Flyin' Jinny?”

”Hole on, hole on! How come Gumbo Rollins?”